


Another Choice

by allmyshipshavesunk



Series: The Shield [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Gen, lords and ladies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1365811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmyshipshavesunk/pseuds/allmyshipshavesunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sir Clinton Barton was sent to take out a threat, known only as the Widow, but when he finally catches her he makes another choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Choice

**Author's Note:**

> I am a big history fan and I try to be reasonably accurate, but I'm by no means an expert on medieval history (I'm basically depending on prior knowledge from books I've read and the internet) and sometimes I may take some liberties for the sake of the story. This is a fanfic after all, not a dissertation. Basically, if you are in fact an expert on medieval history then please bear with me ;)

　　Sir Clinton rolled his shoulders and twisted his head from side to side, trying to work the kinks out of his neck. Three months, three months of sleeping on the ground and in inns so cramped and seedy that they made the ground seem like paradise. Three months of greasing filthy palms and catching whispers around tavern fires. Three months of tracking and searching with nothing but rumors to go on. Three months and still no sign of her. If you asked him there was no Widow, she was just a legend, a story designed to instill fear. No doubt the crimes attributed to her were in fact perpetrated by dozens of men.  
　　Unfortunately he didn’t think Lord Fury would accept that answer, which meant he had to keep searching, at least until something else came along that required his unique skills. What he really wanted was action, he was tired of just watching and waiting. As it was he was currently perched in a tree, watching the gates of a castle belonging to the Widow’s rumored target, and had been there since nightfall. If there was no sign of her by sunrise he would move on, the Widow did her best work by moonlight.  
　　He had nearly drifted off when a flash of red caught his eye. Even in the near pitch black she was easy to spot, and he now had no doubt of exactly who she was. The various descriptions he’d heard had been hilariously varied, but two things had always been the same; she was beautiful, and she had hair like fire.  
　　He waited a moment while she scaled the castle wall with such ease she might as well have been walking on solid ground before noiselessly abandoning his perch. As soon as the woman had slipped through the window Sir Clinton followed her path up the wall and through the window. He had his bow drawn and an arrow nocked before his feet had hit the ground. She had her back to him, so he was surprised when she spoke.  
　　“You are the one they call Hawkeye are you not?” Without waiting for an answer she continued, her voice far too soft and gentle, it seemed, for someone of her reputation, “I’m rather glad that it is you, my fate has never been aught but death, but I should have hated to fall to any but my equal.” With this she turned to face him, her features illuminated by the candle in her hand.  
　　Sir Clinton’s aim faltered. This was the infamous Widow? She couldn’t be more than sixteen, but her reputation went back at least four years. “Why, you’re naught but a maid.”  
　　The side of her mouth quirked up in a sad sort of smile, “I haven’t been a maid for a very long time I’m afraid, though I could scarcely call you ancient noble archer.”  
　　Sir Clinton had to smile himself, he’d spent so much of his life on his own that sometimes his twenty years felt more like two hundred. “No I suppose not.”  
　　“Well, now that we have the pleasantries out of the way shall we move on to the part where you kill me?” She set the candle down on the desk beside her and then took a seat in the chair, carefully arranging her skirts.  
　　The young archer blinked, none of this was going as he had expected. Someone with her skills and experience didn’t just go down without a fight, didn’t just sit back and wait to die. If he didn’t know better he would think that she wanted him to kill her. But that couldn’t possibly be true could it?  
　　One look in her emerald eyes told him the sad truth; that was exactly what she wanted. She believed herself fully deserving of death, and she desired the release it would offer her, but as she said she had wanted to fall at the hands of her equal. She was trapped, and in her eyes death was the only escape. Perhaps he could change that.  
　　Without giving himself time to think it over Clinton lowered his bow, “What if you had another choice?”  
　　  
　　


End file.
